


Stolen Roses

by literarykat



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But still trying to stay true to the world, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fate & Destiny, I wanted a female witcher and here we are, Lots of me fretting over canon and then realizing I can do whatever I want, Magic, Multi, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant - The Witcher, Older Characters, POV Queer Character, Takes place over many years, The Law of Surprise (The Witcher), Work In Progress, how old? idk. they're mages and witchers so they're practically immortal, lots of yearning between running for their lives and fighting monsters, not sure how long it'll be but we'll find out as we go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22545952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarykat/pseuds/literarykat
Summary: Years after fleeing from a destroyed manticore school, Alvoth has given up on just about everything besides monster hunting. She mourns the loss of the only home she's ever known, and a lover who she's learned betrayed her. The Witcher keeps little company, that is until destiny intertwines her to the sorceress Thiazka, a mage to the Temerian king looking to be something more to someone. Together the two form an unlikely team and begin fighting to help the less fortune around them. It's then that Alvoth begins thinking maybe there's more to continue living for after all. And that homes can be more than one place-- and person.Until her past comes back to haunt her.
Relationships: Original Witcher Character(s)/Original Witcher Character(s), Original Witcher Character/Philippa Eilhart
Kudos: 2





	Stolen Roses

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the Witcher fandom, and I've tried my best to keep with the canon timeline but it began stressing me out trying to fit the correct dates and characters in, so I am allowing for some canon divergence. So should Philippa already be serving a King in the year 1195? Probably not, but I'm going with it. Also we don't know a ton about Zerrikania so I'm playing around with that. Let me know what you think!

Thick soled boots treaded lightly through the mossy bank, a silver sword glistening in the waning moonlight, as Alvoth inched closer to the feeding beast. 

Stunzes, they had called it. The poor man needed help, not a Witcher. The way Alvoth saw it, the man was a loaded crossbow waiting to go off. Maybe he hadn’t killed anyone yet, but it was only a matter of time. Young livestock only sated a lesser vampire’s hunger for so long. 

The Katakan’s ears fluttered back, but it continued feeding, unaware of the company. The Witcher released a small breath that she had been holding as the wind picked up. Thankfully, she was upwind, but the foul stench of the creature’s catch wafted to her nose. She curled her lip in disgust, but continued forward. 

The beast was all grey and lanky, not much meat on its bones. It was like a bat without wings and just a bit larger than the average man. Alvoth was surprised it was still out this close to dawn. But it made killing it much easier. She had been tracking the Katakan all night, following its erratic movements. The closer to dawn, the easier it would be to kill it and know it would stay dead. Alvoth assessed the scene in front of her. There was a cluster of large rocks to her right making a stepping path up to the forest floor. The riverbed had once been larger, the water higher, marked clear by the distinct difference in elevation. It made for a perfect leaping point.

In moments, Alvoth lept onto the nearby rock to her right in order to launch herself onto the Katakan’s back. The beast screeched and reared up in alarm at the sound of her boot hitting stone and Alvoth was knocked back, head slamming against ledge she had used moments ago. Her vision swam in front of her for a few seconds, neck becoming wet with blood, but Alvoth staggered back up onto her feet.

The Katakan screeched and turned to her, muzzle covered in guts. Alvoth forced herself to roll forward as the Katakan’s long arms whipped out at her. She felt talons sink into the back of her thigh but she slammed her sword up into the tender meat of the Katakan’s breast and heard a cry of alarm from the creature. Alvoth twisted the sword in further and the Katakan slumped onto her back.

For a split moment, Alvoth panicked at the heavy, suffocating weight of the dead body. Then she felt the searing pain in her thigh and rolled onto her back, pushing the Katakan off her body with all the strength she could muster. Her head began to swim at the impact of She quickly pulled out her silver sword and hefted it high over her head, swinging down onto the beast’s neck. The head rolled to the side with the force. With her other hand outstretched, Alvoth quickly cast igni. The beast’s body went up in flames.

The Witcher sat there beside the burning body, breathing heavily, watching the stars above her blur in and out of focus. She smiled to herself as she caught her breath, then got up and sheathed her sword.

An hour later, a black war horse trotted through the streets of Grabowa Buchta, Katakan head swinging from its left flank. The Witcher atop was barely conscious and paler than usual. In the early morning, not many were on the streets. Merchants preparing stock paused in their duties, staring unabashedly. Others skittered away, cursing the Witcher as she passed. Alvoth ignored them all and continued through the mud covered streets before reaching a small wooden lodge in the heart of Grabowa Buchta, its sign marking it an herbalist shop.

Alvoth slid off her horse, putting all her weight on her uninjured leg. She plodded up the steps, hissing as she did, and didn’t even knock. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and collapsed on the floor.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky and streaming through the windows of the shop as Alvoth finally came to. She gasped, parched, and stared up at the ceiling until the wave of dizziness went away. From the far corner of the room, she could hear the scraping of a pestle in a mortar. Outside, the town of Grabowa Buchta was alive and energetic. It was the first sunny day in weeks. 

“You’re quite lucky that beast’s talons didn’t hit anything vital,” came a soft, feminine voice. Alvoth closed her eyes and smirked.

“They say you Witchers heal fast. Can’t say I’ve believed that ’til now.” The scraping noise ceased, replaced by the shuffling of feet. Alvoth opened her eyes as the herbalist came to sit beside her. She had warm brown eyes and a kind smile, the early onset of wrinkles lining her forehead and mouth. The herbalist wore a plain blue dress, restitched a numerous amount of times. A vial of anise was bound by a cord around her neck.

“Thanks,” Alvoth croaked. She felt like she had swallowed nails. The herbalist stood and went to grab a skin of water.

“Your coin is waiting with your things at the end of the bed. Do what you must before you set off, but I’d advise you to leave quickly. Many are beginning to dislike having you amongst them, especially after killing Stunzes.” She came back with the skin and handed it to Alvoth, whose cat-like eyes had narrowed.

“You mean the Katakan.”

The herbalist sighed. “Stunzes was a respected man around here. Can’t blame everyone for hating you.”

Alvoth ignored her as she drank heavily from the skin, much of it pooling out her mouth and down her neck, dampening her tunic. Once her belly felt ready to burst from the large quantity, she handed the skin back to the woman with a nod. 

The herbalist left her alone to go back to her pestle and mortar, humming quietly. Alvoth leaned her head back against the wall. Instinctively, her hand went to the medallion around her neck.

It lay still against her hand, a good sign, but Alvoth expected nothing less in the space of an herbalist. Her fingers strayed to the other piece on the chain— a silver ring, well worn from constant rubbing. Alvoth sighed quietly, forcing her fingers away from the ring. She made herself swing her legs over the side of the bed, reacting little to the now faint wound on the back of her thigh. She reached for her armor hanging on the bed post and quickly dressed.

“Thank you, again. I hope harboring me doesn’t taint your reputation around here,” Alvoth finally said as she fixed the waist of her trousers. The herbalist didn’t turn her head, but the Witcher sensed her change in demeanor. The woman’s shoulders tensed.

“‘Course not. Now be gone, Witcher.”

Alvoth wasted no time in leaving. She gathered her swords and coin, heading out the door. Her mare, feathered feet and a random strip of white amongst the black on her head, knickered at the sight of Alvoth.

“Good to see you too,” Voth hummed, a smile flickering across her face. She quickly tied her swords to the saddle and pulled herself up, adjusting slowly with the fresh new skin on her thigh. She urged her horse out of the town, and on up to Tretogar.

* * *

Thiazka closed her eyes as she felt the bed shift beneath her. She tried to ignore the sound of a dress being put back on, but at the obviously disgruntled sigh of the other person in the room, she knew she had to face the oncoming conversation.

“Well?” Philippa asked. Thiazka opened her eyes to the woman, her brown hair already fixed into a perfect braid, low cut red dress looking like it hadn’t just spent the past few hours crumpled on the floor. Philippa Eilhart, sorceress to the King of Redania, and probably the only Aretuza sorceress that Thiazka didn’t despise. 

“It’s not happening.”

“No, you’re too subservient to take that kind of action. Fine then.” Philippa’s face was a mask, not showing whatever disappointment might have been there. At least, Thia assumed there was disappointment, judging from the tone of her voice.

Thiazka sat up, drawing the bed sheet around her chest and pushing back damp strings of hair that had fallen into her face. She shot a look at the other sorceress in the room with her, doing her best Tissaia impression, but Philippa looked ready to burst out laughing, so she dropped it and looked down at her hands. “Why is it that every time you come to Vizima and we fuck, you have to ruin the act by talking about betraying the brotherhood after?”

“Hmm. In my opinion it makes our moments together so much more attractive. It’s why I keep coming back,” Philippa responded.

Thia wanted to strangle the sorceress in front of her. “Thanks, Phil, that makes me feel so much better.”

“Oh, did you want to act like what we’re doing is romantic? Next time I’ll climb through the window of this shitty establishment and offer you a rose.” Philippa turned away from the bed and sat at the vanity, grabbing her necklace and putting it on. 

Thiazka pretended that comment didn’t hurt, but she felt her palms itching, the tickling in the back of her throat. It was true— she and Phil intended to keep their meetings brief, no strings attached. Phil got what she needed, and so did Thia, when she couldn’t find it at court. Which, after a year with the King, was more often. You could only sway local lord’s wives to bed once before you risked someone noticing.

And Phil— well, Thia didn’t know why the sorceress came to her still. Part of her wondered if Phil was attached— though that was certainly hopeful thinking. 

“Tell me, Thia. If you’re so bloody miserable here, why not just abandon your post? The brotherhood will leave you alone, so long as you don’t stir the pot,” Philippa was looking at her through the mirror, black eyes intimidating. Thia sighed.

“There’s nothing I hate more than the prospect of becoming a hedge witch, tending to some local town’s missing livestock problem,” she responded, and the hum from Phil reassured her to continue. “I want to do more— be more. And if serving a King brings me that opportunity, then I’ll be miserable.”

“That’s pathetic.” Phil muttered. Thia’s cheeks heated and she glared at the sorceress. 

“You’re one to fucking talk.”

Philippa raised an eyebrow and turned around on the stool. Her hands were sitting delicately in her lap, nails bright red, rings all in line. “I wouldn’t say I’m miserable. I’ll play King’s puppet all day, but I do it knowing my opportunity for change is rising quickly, dear. Admit it, there’s nothing for you at court and you know it.” 

There was a banging at the door. “Aye! Time’s up. Either toss me more coin or get the fuck out!”

“That’s my cue,” Phil said and made a gesture with her hand. To her right side a portal opened to a dark room, candles lit randomly. “Darling, make a decision. Either leave, or die at your worthless King’s court. Don’t give me that look. I know you’re one sorry day away from doing something stupid. I know there aren’t a lot of options for us beyond the brotherhood, but I don’t doubt you’re not meant for a King.” 

The sorceress stood up and crossed the room, pulling Thia forward with a hand on the back of her neck. Phil kissed her, hard, then pulled away to stare at the naked woman with a smile. “I’ll see you soon.” She pressed a kiss to her forehead and was gone, leaving through the portal and vanishing in moments. Thia was pretty sure Phil was the cause of her headaches, being so back and forth on her outward shows of affection.

The door began shaking with the pounding against it again. Thiazka sighed, pulled on her night tunic, and transported herself out of the room before the inn-keep could burst through. 

* * *

Maybe, Thiazka came to the consluion nearly three months later, Phil had been right.

She stood a few steps down and to the left of King Medell, keeping her eyes forward as the person in front of the throne continued to plead for help in the surrounding farmland. Apparently, there was a monster roaming the area.

King Medell laughed after the farmer finished his story. Thiazka forced herself not to wince at how his brash laugh carried through the room. “This monster sounds merely like some Sco’iatel threatening my people. They’ll move on soon enough. Just ignore them.”

With that, the guards grabbed the peasant and hauled him out, even as he continued pleading to his King. King Medell sighed. “Is that all?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the guard near Thia answered. Medell clapped his hand together. 

“Court is dismissed, then.”

Thiazka couldn’t move fast enough. She pushed through the small crowd of courtiers and went towards the front door, where the guards had just kicked the peasant out. The guards didn’t stop her as she walked after the man, who was hobbling fast as he could across the bridge. 

“You there! Sire!” Thia called after him. The peasant turned and his eyes went wide. Then he spat at the ground and bean walking away faster. Thiazka sighed and continued after him.

She followed him through the streets of Vizima, eyes trained on his head, so not to lose him. She finally got up with him when the town broke way to vast fields and a wagon he was loading into. 

“Sir, please, I just want to ask some questions,” Thiazka went up to the wagon, standing closer to his seat. The peasant glared at her.

“Be gone, witch. Your King won’t help, and I sure as hell don’t want your help.” He made a move to flick the reins and get his horses going. 

“No, please wait,” Thia asked, and the man hesitated. “My King won’t look further into this, but allow me to come with you, and I may be able to convince him there is a greater threat than just some Elves.” She promised.

The man looked at her with skepticism, but she saw the cogs turning in his head and nodded to himself. “Very well. Get on.”

Thiazka breathed a sigh of relief and took the man’s proffered hand to sit next to him in the wagon.

* * *

Alvoth stared at the crowd in the inn from her seat. She was in Tretogor, having caught wind that the Redanian King was looking for help in ridding his kingdom of a monster. 

She was to meet his mage first, before getting the chance to talk to him. Why she needed to pass some sort of test with his puppet, she wasn’t sure. 

The courier had told her to meet the mage in the local inn, that the mage would find her. Alvoth merely nodded, knowing she couldn’t do anything other than agree to the dumb proposition. Until now. Now, she was on her second ale and beginning to draw wary eyes. Alvoth sighed and sat back, thinking about leaving. 

The doors to the inn swung open and Alvoth glanced in the direction out of habit. She looked away, then her eyes snapped back to the woman walking through the doors, who was staring right back at her.

Alvoth tilted her head up and to the side slightly, unblinking as the woman made her way through the crowded tables and sat across from her. She placed her forearms on the table, looking like someone who had just come to casually chat. She wore a modest burgundy dress with a gold necklace around her neck, her hair tied into a braid that laid against one shoulder. Her eyes were a well of black, unsettling Alvoth the longer she looked at them. She couldn’t tell where the pupil ended. Still, the woman before her was attractive and knew it by the way she was holding herself. Alvoth had long since learned the pride each Aretuza sorceress had for their beauty. 

“So you’re the Witcher of the hour?” The woman’s voice was deep and precise, each word drawn out slightly. Alvoth hummed.

“You’re the mage to the King,” she stated. The woman nodded.

“My King has a pest that needs getting rid of. I can only do so much. He wants the skill of a Witcher and he’s willing to pay heavily. He only has one request.” The woman shooed off the bar tender who came by to refill Alvoth’s cup. Alvoth glared at the woman, who merely shrugged.

“What’s the request?” Alvoth asked, setting her cup aside. The woman didn’t answer at first, her eyes clearly checking out the Witcher’s broad shoulders and large biceps under the leather armor she wore. The woman’s eyes met Alvoth’s again, briefly, before settling on what Alvoth assumed was the large, faint pink scar beneath her left eye, stretching to the side of her mostly close shaved head. 

“I must say that I truly expected someone… well, I expected some brooding male Witcher. I’m quite pleased that my expectations have been subverted— for the better, might I add.” The woman leaned closer, lower lip drawn between her teeth. Alvoth smirked. 

“Happy to please you, mage,” she responded. The woman made a content noise that sent a spike of warmth to Alvoth’s lower stomach. 

“The King of Redania asks that you keep this quiet. He doesn’t want you seen at court. You’re to accompany me to where the monster’s last attack is and we shall grant you the coin to pay for a room here, but you don’t utter a word about what you’re doing here.” The woman got right back to business. Alvoth’s smirk fell.

“So the King has something to do with this mess.”

“Yes,” the woman didn’t try to deny it. She shrugged and sat back. “I won’t lie to you about that. But what does it matter to you? From what I’ve heard, you like taking contracts, getting your coin, and not thinking too hard about the reasons why you’re getting the coin and where the damn monster came from. Why’s this any different?”

Alvoth didn’t respond. It wasn’t different. She preferred not asking questions. It was better that way. The less she involved herself in the politics and disagreements of the people, the less she had to worry about anything else. She had done plenty of worrying about things beyond monster hunting before, and she had sworn never to go back to that. 

Alvoth reached for her medallion, thinking. It was humming slightly in the presence of the mage. The woman’s eyes drifted to Alvoth’s fingers, then her gaze lingered on the ring beside the medallion. Alvoth watched her eyebrows rise up in surprise, but the woman didn’t question her. 

“Say you’ll do it, and I’ll be sure the coin is doubled. And maybe if you linger a little while longer in Tretogor, I’ll be sure to see you’re… fitfully rewarded beyond that.” 

Alvoth rolled her eyes. “Double the coin. Alright, fine. I’ll not bother the King and I’ll be sure his pest problem is taken care of.”

“Wonderful, Witcher. Glad to see we’ve come to a consensus. I’ll tell you what I know of the monster on the way to the site of the attack. I have an inkling of what it may be, but they say your kind is better equipped at this. What does a mage know, after all?” The woman stood up and Alvoth found herself following suite. They walked out into the brisk fall air. Alvoth could see her breath. When she looked back at the mage, she was shocked to see a fur coat that she was plenty sure the woman hadn’t been wearing before.

“I didn’t quite catch your name,” the woman said as she looked up at her. Alvoth stood well over a foot above her. The Witcher sighed.

“Alvoth.”

“Alvoth. Pleasure to be properly introduced.” They began walking in the direction away from the kingdom. “The name’s Philippa Eilhart.”


End file.
